


The Queen and the Angel

by BrightBlueBloodRed



Series: Charlie's Angels [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Canon, Angst, Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s08e22 Clip Show, F/F, Female Friendship, Human Castiel, Human Crowley (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Men of Letters Bunker, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV Castiel, POV Charlie Bradbury, POV Crowley (Supernatural), POV Female Character, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Season/Series 09, Sioux Falls, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unrequited Castiel/Dean Winchester, just generally slow, possible discussion of racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightBlueBloodRed/pseuds/BrightBlueBloodRed
Summary: Charlie Bradbury meets a certain trench-coated angel, and is shocked by his treatment at the hands of one Dean Winchester.Thus begins a train of events which will eventually lead the Queen of Moons, the King of Hell and the Angel of Thursday to join forces - but will they be happy allies, or will their differences tear them apart?~ Beginning at the start of s8 ep22 Clip Show, this fic will run pretty much canon-adjacent (with a few alterations) up to the end of s9, then diverge from canon completely. Likely to include Crowstiel and Charlie/any awesome woman in the vicinity, so don't read if that's not your cup of tea :)





	1. Queen Meets Angel

Charlie ended the call on her mobile and sat back in the car seat, bobbing her head absentmindedly to 'Walking on Sunshine' playing through the stereo. The bunker entrance looked abandoned - the boys did a good job of hiding their frequent movement in and out. Maybe the protective spells helped too. Charlie wondered what sort of magic one would employ to hide tyre tracks, disrupt mobile signal and make old ivy look as if it saw no one but mice and birds. The mobile phone disruption was especially impressive when you remembered that the Men of Letters had warded the bunker decades before the invention of the cell.

A minute later, the garage door slid up with a grinding of machinery. Charlie drove her recently-hot-wired green bug down the ramp and into the yellow light of the underground sanctum. Pulling up beside the Impala, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders and a smile spread across her face. Out in the world, she was always on the run, never quite herself, never quite relaxed. But here no one could find her, and the problems she had to face were so much bigger and weirder than the law that it was almost comforting. She felt safe.

Dean entered the garage as Charlie was lifting her bag from the back seat.

“Hey, if it isn’t the Queen of Moons!”

"What’s up, bitch!"

Dean laughed as Charlie grabbed him into a hug, but it sounded strained. Charlie pulled back, grin sliding into a frown of concern.

"Bad time? Sam sounded rough on the phone - the trials?"

"Yeah." Dean's jaw clenched. "He's hurting - but we know where we’re headed at least. You were right kiddo - if anyone can do it..."

Charlie nodded, pressing her lips together in sympathy. Then her automatic response to stress kicked in, and her face split into a sunny smile. "Well, are we gonna stand in the car park all day? I brought supplies!" She waved the loaded carrier bag under Dean's nose. "And no, I didn't forget the pie dumbass. Come on, I haven't had a chance to explore this place properly yet!"

Following Dean through into the main bunker, Charlie couldn't help her inner history geek coming out. She ran her fingers over the walls, all painted in that particular cream and faded green you saw in movies set during the world wars. Not for the first time Charlie wished she had more than a hobbyist's knowledge of 20th-century history. The stories this place must have seen, and not just the supernatural ones. Charlie pictured people hiding here from German bombs, perhaps using their advanced technology to break enemy code - or maybe there was a whole other level to the World Wars the history books never taught? One where demonic bargains were struck and witches battled for dominance. And what about the Cold War? Was there a frantic scrabble to secure powerful magical artefacts before any one side could claim them, the desperate search for counter-magics to combat the spells of some power-crazed politician or other? Or had the supernatural community remained largely neutral?

Charlie’s imaginings swept on in a rush of projected events, until she looked up to find they had reached the centre of the operation. She gazed around at the wide hall, and more so at the books lining the brick walls, the files heaped haphazardly in boxes on the floor, the mysterious tech poking through here and there. Her eyes found the sigils around the gallery, and her fingers itched to whip out her phone and start looking them up, deciphering their intent and purpose. It was a moment before she noticed the figures sitting at the main table, half-hidden as they were behind piles of paper, laptops and discarded takeout wrappers.

“Sam!” Charlie deposited her carrier bag the better to hug him. Sam half-rose into the embrace, but she could feel the weakness in his arms, and he swiftly released her to lean against the table and sink back into his seat.

“Hiya Charlie - how’s it going?” His smile as he shook his hair back was tired, but genuine.

“Fine - great! You know - five by five.” Sam looked confused, and Charlie laughingly shrugged off the reference. “What about you - no offense dude, but you look like death.”

“No he doesn’t.”

Charlie turned, startled by the unknown voice. She was met by a vivid blue stare from eyes lined with pain.

“Death doesn’t look ill, in the form he typically displays to humans. Pestilence, on the other hand-”

“Cas,” Sam held out a placating hand. “Stop talking.”

Charlie felt her own eyes widen. “Cas - wait, is this Castiel?”

Sam nodded and Cas bowed his head with an awkward half-smile, as if not sure whether to show he was pleased. It made Charlie warm to him instantly, if his portrayal in the _Supernatural_ books hadn’t already done the trick. Beaming, she marched around to Cas’ side of the table to give him as enthusiastic a hug as she’d given the Winchesters. He stiffened in surprise, his arms coming up to hug her back only after several seconds. When she released him, he looked stunned, but happy. The lines of pain on his face were momentarily smoothed away - only to return almost at once as he doubled over in his chair, clutching his abdomen.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t realise you were hurt!” Charlie backed off.

“No - I - I’m fine. I was injured, and it’s taking longer to heal than expected. But Sam is the one who needs help.”

“What did you want Charlie?” Dean broke in abruptly. Charlie turned to look at him, frowning. He hadn’t fully entered the room, but was standing with his arms folded, glaring at the trench-coated figure at the table. The tension was obvious, and Charlie wondered what had happened to make Dean so angry with his angelic friend. Whatever it was, Cas was clearly aware of it. The glances he sent Dean’s way were wary, almost scared, like a dog waiting for the next kick.

Dean seemed to notice her expression. “Not that it’s not great to see you and all, but -”

“I know, I know, world-ending catastrophes - I wanted to take you up on that offer of using your archives, if I won’t be in the way? I noticed some weird activity on some of the Satanist forums I keep an eye on - most of the folks on there are sweethearts, but these guys seemed different. Intense, y’know? Wanted to check out some of the stuff they posted to see if it was more than just kids messing around. And - yes - also to get my hands on some of the books you have locked away in here. I’m updating my monster-ID app and I could use some reliable info that doesn’t come from a website called thelonelyones.com or forum posts by hellraiser98.”

Sam’s exhausted eyes lit up. “And when are you gonna release that thing in a form I can get my hands on?”

“When you give me copies of that old journal of your dad’s, dumbass!” 

Dean cleared his throat. “Ah, Charlie - you’re like a sister to us, really, but that journal-”

Sam interrupted, and Charlie noticed that despite his evident illness he looked wired, caged. She was fairly sure that if he hadn’t been so weak he’d be pacing the room. “Hey man - look, use whatever books you want.” He caught his brother’s eye. “We were actually about to head out - we’ve got a lead on the third trial. An old Man of Letters who might’ve managed to cure a demon way back when. So the bunker’s yours.”

Dean made a noise as if he were about to object, but Sam shot him a look, and he subsided. Charlie cocked her head. “Cure? Like - make it not - be a demon anymore? Demons were human once right?”

“Yes.” Cas nodded. “Demons are human souls who were twisted into abominations by years of torment in Hell. It is reasonable to assume that “curing” one could mean turning it back into a human. Though how that kind of damage to a soul could ever be truly reversed -”

Sam cleared his throat. Cas dropped his eyes.

“That was - different.” He muttered. “You were-”

“So we need a way to turn a black-eyed bitch back into Little Miss Sunshine.” Dean’s tone was full of forced joviality. “And we need to get to this guy before someone goes El Chameleon on his ass - come on Sammy.” He strode over to grab his coat, and Sam rose to join him.

“Dean.” Cas was also standing, pushing himself up with evident effort. “I can help.”

The look Dean gave him was colder than any Charlie had seen on his face before. Without a word, he turned and walked towards the door. Sam shot Charlie a look of distracted apology and began to leave too.

Cas moved after them. “Dean, I’m sorry.” He followed them into the passageway, his gait urgent.

Charlie tried not to listen, but she couldn’t help but hear Dean stop and face Cas. Couldn’t help but overhear Dean’s accusations and Cas’ repeated admissions, “Yes. Yes,” each time more defeated, more cowed. She heard Dean’s final words.

“Nah that’s not gonna cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology. And cram it up your ass.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah. You always do.”

A door slammed.

Charlie sat in Sam’s vacated seat, tension sparking through her shoulders. She didn’t know the context of the confrontation, didn’t know Cas, and had every reason to give Dean the benefit of the doubt. But hearing someone abase themselves so utterly, lay themselves completely open to condemnation, and then be slammed down for it - it touched on some of Charlie’s deepest fears. Her entire frame felt ice-hot with retrospective horror to think Dean might have responded the same way when she told him about her mom. It was like finding out that the girl you nearly went home with had been discovered later that night standing over a body with the murder weapon in her hand.

Castiel re-entered the room looking blank, his steps uneven and shoulders hunched. Charlie looked up with the brightest smile she could manage, then leapt to her feet as the angel’s legs seemed about to give way. “Woah! Take it easy big fella!”

Hurrying around the table, she caught him under the arms and supported his weight back to his chair. He was uncoordinated, his face slack.

“Thank you.”

“You ok?”

“I’ll heal.” It was hard to distinguish emotion in the roughness of his voice. It was utterly level, hard as bedrock, and yet at the same time seemed perpetually on the verge of breaking. He leaned forwards, supporting himself with his elbows on the table.

“I meant…” Charlie hovered for a moment, tugging at the sleeves of her brightly-checked shirt. It wasn’t her business. But there was something scary about how expressionless Castiel was, something that would speak of deep and continuous hurt in a human. Charlie didn’t know how angels responded, but surely Cas was a person first and foremost. “Are you hungry?” Wanting something to do with her hands, she rummaged in her carrier bag, pulling out a packet of twizzlers and offering them with an awkward bounce on her heels. “I’ve got candy! Wow, that makes me sound like some sort of creepy stalker.”

“I don’t eat.”

“Oh. Of course - coz angel, right? All the more for me then!” Charlie could feel her smile growing taut, but she forced herself to stay cheerful and energetic. “I don’t mean to pry, but… what - actually happened to you?”

“I was on the run from angels - they caught me. Then Crowley caught me. He ripped the Word of God from my stomach.”

Charlie winced. “Ouch. My sympathies dude.”

“Dean is right. I should have trusted him. Then Crowley might not have the Angel Tablet and-” He broke off, biting his lips together.

“Look, I don’t know about the Word of God or anything, but… It kinda sounds like you did your best to protect it. What with all the gruesome - ripping and stuff.”

“Well it wasn’t enough.” Cas turned his head away from her, casting his gaze back and forth as though tracing the path of his failure. It was a gesture of utter resignation. 

“Maybe not, but… I mean how much could Dean and Sam have helped? It seems like you’d know more about evading angels than they do.”

Cas shook his head. “I was trying to confuse them by using near-identical locations to make it impossible for them to pinpoint me. When we travel - it’s more like some part of us, the part you see as our wings, is everywhere, on some plane of existence, all the time. So we have to focus ourselves, the part manifesting inside our vessels, onto the intended destination. By moving constantly between very similar locations I aimed to trap them in something akin to a quantum super-position.”

Charlie blinked. “Wow. That is - that’s - wow. Remind me to ask you about high-level physics! So how did they find you?”

Again, the angel looked away, but not before Charlie caught the look of guilt and grief on his face. “They didn’t. They… made me stop. With a roomful of bodies.”

“Oh.”

“And I had to kill yet another of my brothers to escape. So much death.” The bitterness in Cas’ voice was unmistakable, but it sounded numb, his tone almost sing-song in its weariness. He ran his fingers through his already-messy hair.

Charlie bit her lip, not sure what she could really say to this. “It… it still sounds like it wouldn’t have gone much better if you’d asked the boys to help. Maybe it was inevitable that they’d catch you sooner or later - but you bought time for Sam to get to the third trial. That must mean something.”

“Maybe. But the fact remains that I betrayed my friends’ trust. They have every right to be angry.”

There was no arguing with the finality of that statement, even though Charlie was still sure Dean had been wrong to treat Cas the way he had, when Cas had gone through so much trying to do the right thing. But she couldn’t force Cas to feel better, and it might make it worse to push further.

Charlie’s thoughts were interrupted by a ringtone. Casting around, she spotted the phone vibrating across the table, one of Sam or Dean’s. For a moment she hesitated, then picked up. The caller ID said ‘Sheriff’. “Hello?”

“Who is this?” The voice on the other end of the line was female and suspicious.

“Um - Charlie. I’m a friend of…” Charlie realised she didn’t know which alias this phone was attached to. There was an awkward pause.

“Oh, this is ridiculous - you know Dean?”

“Yeah - sorry, I didn’t know if you - anyway, yep, I’m Sam and Dean’s friend.” Charlie liked the sound of the voice. It was down-to-earth and no-nonsense, with a comforting drawl at its edges.

“No worries kid - could you give the boys a message from me? I’ve got a case I thought they might want to know about. Some goth kids playing at being cultists, but their crap actually looked pretty organised, not like the usual. Scene reeked of sulphur.”

Charlie felt a thrill of intuition. “Wait - were they using a symbol? Like a 9-pointed star?”

Another pause. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“I’ve been researching the same group! Or, well, some people using the same lore. I’ve mostly been tracking them through message boards and Tumblr posts.”

“Really? Well, I’m glad we’ve got someone on board who understands what the kids are up to these days. You want in?”

“Yeah - yes, definitely! If you’re ok - I mean, I’m fairly new to this whole actually hunting thing, yknow? I’m mostly research girl.”

“Hey kid, we all start somewhere. Head on over to Sioux Falls. You’ll find me at the Sheriff’s office - Jody Mills.”

“Great! Will it wait a few hours? I wanna see if I can figure out some of the rituals they’ve been posting.”

“Sure. I’ll expect you sometime tomorrow.”

The line went dead, and Charlie hung up with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Castiel gave her a questioning look.

“Have Sam and Dean ever mentioned a Jody Mills?”

He nodded. “Yes - I believe they’ve helped her with a number of cases.”

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Right then - don’t suppose you’d be up for a study session?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed Chapter One! :D this is my first long-running fic, so I'm very much open to comments & constructive criticism :) I'm going to aim to update on Saturdays and Wednesdays, so expect Chapter Two in 4 days' time.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the amazing friend who got me into Supernatural and who has already given me so many fantastic comments and ideas for this fic - you know who you are!
> 
> Stay awesome everyone! <3


	2. Stars and Sheriffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Castiel bond over satanic ritual research, before Charlie heads off to meet the mysterious Sheriff Jody Mills.

Cas and Charlie sat at the polished wood table in the centre of the bunker, surrounded by the detritus of Sam and Dean’s researches. Charlie had her messenger bag open and was rummaging for her iPad and charger.

“So I’ve been tracking these cultist dudes - they keep posting these really freaky comments, the same symbol every time. Hold on, lemme show you…” As she spoke, Charlie busied herself opening her tablet and setting up the wireless keyboard. “It started a few months back - I think there’s a core group all posting from the same location. Weird actually - what Sam and Dean were saying about turning a demon human? Well, these guys are promising a way to become demons.”

“Why would anyone want to become a demon?” Charlie looked up, surprised. Cas was leaning forwards in his chair, a lively interest in his eyes, despite the pain still drawing lines across his cheeks.

“Well, the usual reasons - power, fame, being a bigger, badder, edgier edgelord than the next kid living in their parents’ basement.”

“But becoming a demon - it means losing yourself, your very soul being corrupted into something else. You would be so changed that you’d be gone, for all intents and purposes.” Castiel looked bewildered. “Why would anyone want that?”

Charlie bit her lip, shrugging. “I guess sometimes being yourself isn’t all that fun. If you’re just a loser or ‘that goth weirdo’, I guess the idea of being as bad as you like without having to feel guilty would be appealing.” Not that she’d ever played an evil D&D character for exactly that reason. 

Castiel‘s head tilted to one side, his eyes moving back and forth as he took this in. “I understand. Better to be empty and powerful than weak and hurting.” He met her gaze, as if for confirmation, expression soft with unexpected empathy.

“That about sums it up.” Going back to her iPad, Charlie finished finding the tabs she’d saved and what info she’d managed to glean from tracing IP addresses and hacking accounts. “So do you think it’s possible? That there’s a cheat code for becoming an insta-demon?”

“I’ve never heard of one. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned dealing with humans, it’s that there’s little they’re incapable of.” Charlie was struck by the affection in his voice, an odd combination of frustration and awe.

“This is the symbol,” she turned the screen to face him, pointing at the slightly pixelated PNG in the signature of a black-backgrounded forum post. The red lines traced an oddly-proportioned star, something like a windrose with nine points.

Castiel peered closer, wincing as his movement seemed to aggravate his wound. “That is one of Lucifer’s sigils - the Morningstar. It was used by his devotees in Hell. I didn’t think it was known on Earth.”

“His devotees? You mean the demons who worshipped him, like Azazel?”

“Yes.”

Charlie frowned, remembering the unpublished Supernatural works she’d read online. “Maybe the demons who escaped after Sam jumped Lucifer back into the Cage got chatty with some humans? Still trying to bring Davros back?”

Castiel gave her a look of long-suffering patience. “I don’t understand that reference, but I assume you mean setting Lucifer free again. Why would they want that after he tried to kill them all along with humanity?”

“Well, people can be weird around religion,” Charlie responded absentmindedly, then remembered who she was speaking to. “No offense!”

“None taken. People do indeed do very… odd things in my father’s name. I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised that demons would do the same for Lucifer.”

“Well then - let’s figure out what these bad boys and girls are up to.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of old files, Latin translations and obscure ritualistic texts. Cas was a lot of help when it came to decoding ancient languages and distinguishing between genuine and false Satanic lore - not even the Men of Letters had been infallible in their research apparently. Though his actual skill at trawling through reading material was somewhat wanting. By the time Charlie felt she should leave, they had a pretty good picture of what the cultists were attempting and the suggestion of some of its implications.

Gathering her things, Charlie slung her comic-book-patterned satchel over one shoulder and wrapped her arms around the copies she’d made of a few pertinent documents. “Did you wanna come with? I mean, I haven’t exactly had much time for research, and you have inside knowledge on this stuff.”

Cas had seemed to relax as they worked, becoming more comfortable in Charlie’s presence, and even beginning to smile at her jokes. Now, for a moment, he looked overwhelmed, lips parted and eyes soft. Then he seemed to remember himself and the stoic mask descended. “No. I need to stay here in case Sam and Dean need my help with the trials. I - I owe them that.”

“Okie-dokie!” Charlie did her best to smile, but the tightness was back in her chest. She wanted to tell Cas that he didn’t owe Dean anything after the way Dean had spoken to him, but the truth was that she didn’t know. Instead, she pulled Cas into another hug, being more careful not to hurt him this time. He was still stiff and uncertain, but returned the embrace more naturally than before. “Thanks for your help! You take care of yourself, you hear?”

He nodded, all blue puppy eyes and awkward smile. “I will.”

Leaving him standing alone in his sagging trenchcoat, Charlie headed back out to the garage, to programme Sioux Falls into her sat nav and meet the mysterious Sheriff Jody Mills.

 

***

 

Charlie’s green bug drew up a couple of blocks over from where her sat nav told her the sheriff’s station was. She had no desire to get made over a stolen vehicle on the way to her first solo case. Well, not solo she supposed - but without the Winchesters it felt that way. Ignoring her unease at how quickly that reliance had developed, Charlie stepped out and checked her supplies - holy water, salt, small silver knife, all stowed in her Avengers satchel. Satisfied, she pulled up google maps and set off on foot.

Sioux Falls was smaller than Charlie had expected, and the station reflected its modest size. Pushing through the glass doors, Charlie was met with the scent of stale coffee and paperwork. The guy on the desk looked bored out of his mind, chewing on a croissant which scattered crumbs all over his files. He was cursing and trying to clear up the mess as Charlie approached.

“Hi!” She did her best to hide her nervousness behind her sunniest smile. After years on the run it felt wrong to be marching into a police station voluntarily. Charlie could feel the pulse jumping in her throat, adrenaline sending pinpricks up and down her arms and making her fingers feel numb. “I’m looking for Jody Mills? She said to ask here…”

The guy looked up with his irritation from the disobedient pastry still on his face, and Charlie flinched. But he barely gave her a glance before turning to call over his shoulder into the office. “Jody! Kid here to see you!”

Charlie relaxed slightly. She was used to being called ‘kid’, even when she had several years on the person addressing her. She didn’t mind - it meant people saw her as non-threatening. And that was good for survival in any interaction.

The woman who emerged from the office wore a beige uniform, her dark hair cropped close to her head. Charlie guessed she would be in her late thirties, maybe early forties. There was an air of authority around her, and something hard in the lines of her face which made Charlie think she’d seen her share of grief.

“Charlie, is it?”

“Hi - what’s up!” Charlie waved, ducking her head with an anxious smile.

Jody gave her a sharp glance over. “You’d better come into my office.”

Once Charlie had followed her into the small square room, Jody shut the door and lowered the blinds to cut them off from the rest of the station. Not that it was especially busy, but Charlie appreciated her caution. The office itself was curiously bare, with none of the touches of personality Charlie might have expected. The only hints that the occupant was more than a temporary resident were the jacket hung up by the door and a discreet photo frame on the desk. A small boy and his father smiled out of the frame, just visible from where Charlie was standing.

“So - how do you know Sam and Dean?” Jody was watching her with folded arms.

“Uh - they sorta broke into my office and persuaded me to help them kill my boss to save the world.”

Jody nodded slowly, then her stern mouth twitched and she burst out laughing. “I swear, every time I hear anything about those boys… well, if I didn’t know what was going on, I’d have ‘em in cuffs faster’n you could blink.” She paused. “I’m still not used to all this sometimes. How long have you been hunting?”

“Well, I’m not exactly - a few months maybe? I met them last year, but I kinda… ran. Afterwards.”

“But it pulled you back in, huh? Couldn’t keep away once you knew what was out there.”

Charlie nodded, and for a moment their eyes met in a look of mutual understanding. “Something like that. So what about you? How did you get in?”

Jody’s face closed, though she tried to keep a breezy tone. “My town got overrun with zombies. And I found out that the old drunk I’d been giving leeway to for years was a monster hunter. It was a fun time.”

“Sounds like a party alright.” Charlie wondered what else had happened. From the few interactions she’d had online with real hunters, it seemed like no one had a happy initiation to the club. “So it looks like we’re working the same case?” She grinned at the phrase, nervousness already abating as the excitement of playing detective kicked in. Think of it as a make-believe game, and suddenly everything became manageable. She was just a character, and no character of hers would be so boring as to be scared of working with the police.

“Looks like - it’s weird, I know these kids. You wouldn’t have caught any of them stealing so much as a chocolate bar until last month, and now all of a sudden they’re getting brought in for B&E, stealing crucifixes and rosary beads from the church, getting tattoos of this nine-pointed star-”

“Tattoos of the Morningstar? That doesn’t sound good .”

“Morningstar?”

“A symbol of Lucifer - you know, the Adversary, Satan, the Big Bad Evil. These guys are trying to invoke his power in some sort of ritual to become demons.”

Jody stared at her. “Well, that’s a new one. Any black-eyed bastards involved?”

Charlie shrugged apologetically, biting her lip. “Probably - I mean you smelled sulphur, right? We think some of Lucifer’s old followers might have resurfaced. Have you questioned anyone yet?”

“Yep, they were all going on about some guy who showed up at their - ah - board games night and told them they could get all-powerful overnight with this one neat trick.” Jody shook her head. “If it works in spam mail I guess. We got this off them.” Crossing to the desk, she plucked a sheet of parchment from the top of a neat stack of papers. “I think it’s in Latin.”

Accepting the parchment, Charlie scanned through it. “Yep, that’s the same thing I’ve been finding all over Tumblr - it’s supposed to invite Lucifer into your soul. We couldn’t figure out if it would actually work to make you a demon, but if Lucifer’s old minions are involved, then they might be trying to regroup - build numbers so they can become a viable faction again. Then go back to the old plan of springing their boss from the Cage.”

“Yeesh. That sounds like it falls into a whole new category of bad. I take it the boys are busy with something above our pay grade?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“Well then. I guess now we try to find this thing’s original owner.”

“And throw holy water on him to see if he hisses?”

“Exactly.”

“Um,” Charlie twisted her fingers together. “Have you ever actually faced a demon?”

“Nope.”

“Ah. Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh Charlie and Jody are my new favourite thing XD Thanks for reading! :D next chapter will be up on Saturday - please let me know what you think so far :D
> 
> Stay awesome <3


	3. Black Eyes and Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Jody try to catch a demon - with varying success.

An hour later, they were sitting in Jody’s kitchen with Charlie’s tablet set up once again, recording an exorcism onto their phones.

“You learn this trick from Sam and Dean?”

“Actually I suggested it to them. It seemed the logical thing to do - given how many times Sam gets choked out before he can finish an exorcism in the books. Though I think they did use a recording over a tanoi once.”

“Huh. You’re a regular natural at this aren’t you?”

“I’ve played a lot of video games.” Charlie checked that she could easily hit the play button on her phone, the first strains of Latin sounding loudly through the room. “Actually, it’s weird. All this being - really real. It’s not like it is in stories. I mean, obviously, but… This stuff used to be where I ran to hide from the world, yknow? Fantasy, the supernatural… And now I find out it is the world.”

Jody’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “It’s like having the rug ripped out, isn’t it? You see something you can’t ignore, and suddenly your entire life is a lie.”

“And the world outside the Matrix is much more - well - bloody than you thought. I wish I’d at least been offered the choice of blue or red pill.”

“Not many people actually get to make that choice in real life. Hey,” Jody reached to take her hand, and Charlie found herself suddenly warm. Those eyes really were spectacular, lovely almond outlines and enough depth to get lost in. “One thing you learn as a cop, there’s so much more bad out there than most people ever know about. And when it bursts into your life it doesn’t tend to knock. But that’s why we’re here. To make sure other people don’t have to find out the way we did.”

“Wow.” Charlie laughed softly. “You give that speech to all the girls?”

Jody raised an eyebrow, voice turning sardonic as she withdrew her hand. “Nice defence mechanism. I’m way too old for you kid. Besides, I have a date later, if this whole demon thing doesn’t get too crazy.”

“Fair enough! But seriously - thanks.”

“Welcome.” Jody was surveying their supplies, brow furrowed. “I think we’ve got everything - holy water, exorcism script, salt, spray paint...”

“So do you know where we can find this guy?” Charlie picked up the police drawing done from the cultists’ descriptions of their benefactor. 

“The kids said they were supposed to meet him at the cemetery once they had all the ritual ingredients. Apparently they needed him for the change. They had his name, so I thought we could try an actual summoning, in case he’s noticed his little protegees’ run-in with the law and decided to skip town.”

“Awesome. You’re thinking ambush?”

“Yup. Let’s see if we can’t bag us a hostage.”

***

Of course it would be the cemetery. Why couldn’t monsters hang out somewhere without unnerving shadows and looming tombstones? Or on second thoughts maybe that would be worse. Technically they could summon a demon anywhere, but if this guy turned out to be a mere mortal after all then they needed to be at the rendezvous point to catch him. So that meant standing in a darkling graveyard doing witchcraft. Put like that, it actually sounded pretty cool.

The light was failing as Charlie followed Jody through the small iron gate to the cemetery, evening coming early at this time of year. Charlie quickly found the flattest area of grass and set about making a devil’s trap in grey spray-paint that was almost invisible in the dusk. Behind her, Jody was laying out summoning ingredients on one of the larger tombs, brushing aside yew needles and muttering to herself as she checked the list on her phone.

“I think that’s it.” Charlie stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“Likewise.”

Moving to join Jody behind the tombstone, Charlie felt bizarrely like a druidic priestess at an altar. “We ought to be wearing white robes,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing! So,” Charlie gave Jody a nervous grin, feeling adrenaline flood her system. Though now it came to it, she felt more excited than scared. Maybe it was the witchy paraphernalia - it was easy to trick herself into thinking she was just on the LARP field, surrounded by props and about to summon the Shadow Lord of the Black Mountains to do her bidding. “Let’s do this!”

Jody held up her phone, reading the summoning off the backlit screen, inserting the name of the cultists’ contact in the appropriate place. Charlie struck a match and dropped it into the bowl of ingredients - actually an old mixing bowl of Jody’s, being the only flameproof container they had to hand. The spell caught light immediately, in a burst of smoky herbs and incense, and burnt out almost as fast. Silence. Charlie looked around.

“Shouldn’t he… be here?”

“Maybe we got the wording wrong.”

“No, no, that was perfect.” The voice made them both spin around, Jody with her gun raised. The man standing behind them held up his hands. “Woah! So twitchy!” He sauntered around to their left, Jody tracking him with the barrel of her gun. “A devil’s trap? Please. You people always seem to assume we’re foolish enough to appear directly in front of you without scoping the place first.” He bent to tear out a clod of earth, breaking Charlie’s carefully-drawn line. Then he raised his eyes to stare at them, black from rim to rim.

“Gulp,” Charlie blurted.

“Uhuh,” Jody agreed. “What now?”

“Um. Panic?”

“Where are my little lambs?” The demon looked around the graveyard, as casual as you like. He might have been an early guest for a funeral, in his grey business suit and sensible shoes. “Did you kill them?”

“What do you care?” Charlie managed, surprised at the strength of her own voice. “Sad you missed your dinner?”

The demon’s grin flashed through the twilight. “Oh no. We have big plans for those lads. How about you give them to me, and I’ll let you live?”

Jody shook her head. “Not a chance.”

“Ah, well then.” 

Before Charlie could register what was happening, she found herself flung back against a tree, all the wind knocked from her lungs. Jody was sprawling across the grass, cell and gun scattering from her hands, gasping. The demon approached Jody as if he had all the time in the world, his hands clasped behind his back. _Please be a monologuer_ , Charlie thought, desperately, trying to reach her pocket, her phone. She was fixed in place, caught like a fly in amber, unable to speak and barely able to breathe. But there was just enough give in the paralysis for her to wriggle her hand towards her hip. 

Jody was pushing herself up, shaking her head like a dog casting off water.

“You’re part of something big here, you know.” The bottle of holy water whisked away from Jody’s belt as she reached for it, and the demon laughed. “In fact, I could even cut you in. You’d thank me later.”

“Yeah, save it,” Jody spat. Charlie could see her reaching for a second vial of holy water in her boot, trying to make it look as though she were clutching an injury. 

Redoubling her efforts, Charlie felt pain lance through her hand, as though she’d forced the bones to bend against some immovable barrier. Unable to cry out, she made a choking noise, and the demon turned to her. 

“Stop struggling!” 

In his moment of distraction, Jody acted. She drew her vial, flinging its contents at the demon’s back. He screeched, twisting and writhing as smoke billowed from his expensive suit. His force-hold on Charlie vanished, and she collapsed painfully onto tree roots, coughing and heaving breath, scrabbling for her phone. The demon wheeled about, swooping down on Jody and grabbing her by the throat as she began to yell, “Exorcizamus t-”

Charlie managed to get her cell out at last. She fumbled for the play button, and her own voice crackled through the tinny speakers, confident and sure. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…_ ”

The demon’s head whipped back to her, his fist still around Jody’s neck. Charlie flung her phone into the shrubbery and tugged out her own flask, wrenching at the cap. Snarling, the demon charged, crashing into her even as Charlie threw the holy water. She went down in a tangle of smoking, squealing demon, Jody coughing somewhere out of sight, the exorcism reaching is climax and - suddenly all Charlie could see was smoke. Eyes and mouth clenched shut, she lay where she was, pinned to the ground, until the body on top of her went suddenly, grotesquely limp.

Silence. Charlie could hear her own heartbeat, loud in her head, her own breathing, restricted by the dead weight atop her. A few seconds later, Jody was heaving the meat suit aside. It rolled onto the grass beside Charlie, and for a moment she locked gazes with its glassy, empty eyes. Whoever it had once been, they were gone. 

“You ok?” Jody was bent over, hands braced on her knees as she caught her breath. 

“No,” Charlie replied, far too honestly. “I mean - yeah, sorta. Apart from all the trauma.”

“Ha - welcome to hunting.” She held out a hand, and Charlie let herself be helped to her feet. “So much for getting info out of our guy.”

“Yeah,” Charlie brushed herself down with small, fidgety movements. She couldn’t seem to get that dead stare out of her vision. “Pretty much generic bad guy talk. Blah blah, big plans, blah blah, swagger.”

Jody laughed, a little shakily. “You said it. Well, at least that’s one group of kids who won’t be demonified, right?”

“Yeah.”

Jody’s arm came down around Charlie’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The motherly tone shook Charlie out of her daze. She fought to pull herself together, to channel the Queen of Moondoor, unfazeable and sure. Flashing as bright a smile as she could muster, she bumped her shoulder against Jody’s side. “Clean you up you mean - you’re the one with the big date, remember?”

Jody cast her gaze skywards. “I’m gonna regret telling you that, aren’t I?”

They began to walk back towards Jody’s jeep, gathering their things as they went, each leaning on the other when dizziness threatened. “Bagsie doing your eyes.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Ok fine. But no big goth flicks, k?”

“No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect these two to become best friends, but here we are! Apparently that's what happens when you throw two awesome women together and make them fight a demon :P 
> 
> Thanks for reading - comments always welcome! :D
> 
> <3


	4. Heaven's Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus interlude :)

Charlie was driving back towards the bunker when the angels fell. She rolled onto the mossy verge, and gazed upwards at lines of fire streaming from the sky. 

_Well_ , she thought, _this is it. The end of the world._

Around her, the dense forest flared with bursts of light, thunderous crashes, the splintering scent of pine. And yet she felt oddly calm. Serene.

Later, she called Dean and heard the story. How Sam had called off the trials, how Metatron had double-crossed them and cast the angels out of Heaven, how Cas had gone missing and Crowley been captured. But in the moment, there was only light and noise, and the vertiginous sense that she was falling upwards into the dark pool of the sky.


	5. Queen Meets King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie visits the Bunker again and meets a certain King of Hell... (set between 9x03 and 9x04)

After the angels fell, Dean had made it very clear that the bunker wasn’t open for visitors. He hadn’t said so in as many words, but his tone over the phone had been enough for Charlie to take the hint and leave the boys alone to recover. 

It was a busy time in any case. Charlie spent a couple of weeks chasing wild geese, trying to get a lead on another group of Lucifer cultists. But news of the encounter in Sioux Falls must have gotten out somehow - or maybe the demons were lying low in the new angel-dense environment. Even the message boards had gone quiet, though the demon-transformation ritual continued to circulate on Tumblr and Reddit. It was on the internet now after all, and the internet never forgets. 

And then there were the angels themselves. Jody had given Charlie a few ins to the hunter community, and as far as she could tell no one knew what to do about the thousands of them suddenly popping up all over the place. The Winchesters had put out calls, sharing information Charlie felt they should probably have given out years ago, but it was a perplexing problem. Were the angels a threat? Or a blessing? The hunters were divided, mostly along religious lines, and even the stories of burnt-out vessels and buildings rent by angelic voices weren’t enough to convince some of the dangers of the situation.

Jody and Charlie spoke on a fairly regular basis now. Charlie had heard the full story of her disastrous date with Crowley - Jody had called from the hospital the next morning, and they’d ended up giggling like schoolgirls over the ridiculousness of the whole situation, Jody’s shakiness gradually dissolving into hilarity and then calm. “I swear,” she’d said, “this is what I get for giving you the brush off.”

“I could stay, if you need a hand?”

“Nah kid, I’m good. You get on with chasing those star-spangled bastards.”

So Charlie had left Sioux Falls, and Heaven had fallen.

In the end it was Sam who broke the radio silence between Charlie and the Winchesters. Her phone buzzed as she was sitting in a dingy motel room, attempting to funnel funds from a particularly corrupt and homophobic politician into one of her own accounts, and wondering when she’d gone from hacking on the side to a full-blown life of crime. She thought she could pinpoint the exact moment, actually.

“What’s up, bitch? I was just thinking of you.”

“Really?” Sam sounded pleased, voice crackling over speaker phone as Charlie continued to type.

“Yup. Reminiscing about the time you exploded my dick of a boss.”

Sam laughed. “Hey, any time man!”

“So you ok? Those trials looked like they really messed you up dude.”

“Yeah, no I’m good - fine, actually.”

Charlie frowned, skeptical. “Well, good.”

“So I was pretty out of it last time you visited, but you were looking into some cultists right? Dean said it had something to do with Lucifer?”

Charlie caught the slight hitch on the name, the way Sam always said it with a hint of fear and almost a caress. 

“Yep, much Lucifer, many devil-worship, wow.”

“Well, get this, I’ve just been digging through some of the old Men of Letters’ files, and I came across a whole stack of stuff on Lucifer’s devotees, soul lore - ah - this nine-pointed star sigil - Dean said you’d been finding that everywhere, the Morningstar right?”

“Wow, that sounds like - well, pretty much exactly what I’ve been looking into actually.”

“Exactly - that’s what I thought. Too much to be coincidence? I mean maybe something like this has happened before?”

Charlie smiled at the excitement in his voice. She knew he’d be overjoyed at discovering yet another untapped seam of lore buried in the bunker’s vaults. In his heart, Sam had always been the scholar. “I’m not too far away - could I come and take a look? Maybe make a few copies?”

The barest hesitation. “Sure man - look, I’ll make copies of as much as I can before you get here, then you can take whatever’s useful.”

“Great! Thanks Sam.”

“See you.”

He rang off.

Charlie bit her lip, wondering what that pause had meant. After the lack of communication, she feared the worst. Still, it wasn’t like there was such a thing as a good time to contact the Winchesters, given the way they seemed to bounce from catastrophe to disaster. Shaking off her unease, Charlie began to pack up to go.

***

Sam welcomed Charlie to the bunker with one of his rare, heart-melting grins and a hug which engulfed her. “Your Majesty!”

“Minion!”

Sam laughed. He looked more energised than Charlie had seen him in a long time, and she began to believe that for once a Winchester might not have been lying when he declared himself ‘fine’. Certainly, his enthusiasm for research seemed undiminished. He took her straight to the book-lined main hall, explaining how he’d found the files in some obscure room while continuing the endless task of re-cataloguing the bunker’s contents. 

“The Men of Letters were pretty organised, but there’s always gonna be stuff that goes missing - and some of their categorisation makes no sense. I think they had their own system, but its indecipherable to anyone not nose-deep in obscure lore.”

“Don’t you come under that umbrella?”

“Hah - not like these guys. Bobby’d have more luck, but… well anyway. This is most of what I’ve found.” He handed her a hefty sheaf of A4 paper, still warm from the printer. “Hope it helps.”

“Awesome, dude! Thanks!” Charlie flicked briefly through the pages, then carefully stowed the lot in her messenger bag. It only just fit. “So - where’s Dean?”

Sam hesitated, “He’s…” He swallowed, tilting his head in an odd near-shrug. “He’s in our dungeon.”

Charlie blinked. “You have a dungeon? Of course you have a dungeon. Wait - why is Dean in your dungeon?”

“Ah - he’s… talking… to the King of Hell.”

Charlie felt her mouth fall open. “Crowley? You’re keeping him here?”

Sam nodded.

Anger rose in Charlie’s chest. “I want to see him.”

“I don’t think that’s -”

“Sam. I want. To see him.”

“He-”

“If you don’t take me to see him I will wander around this bunker til I find this dungeon of yours myself.”

“Ok!” Sam held up his hands. “Fine, man - I just wanted to warn you he’s… good at getting inside your head, that’s all.”

Charlie crossed her arms.

“Ok, ok…” he paused only a moment longer, then gestured for her to follow him towards the back of the hall.

They descended a couple of levels, from the brightly-lit living areas into corridors that felt almost submarine, green-painted walls appearing weirdly flat in the grey electric light. Charlie caught glimpses of metal shelving, rack upon rack of files, oddly-shaped boxes and rooms filled with nothing but sigils, delicately drawn across every wall. The Men of Letters’ spellwork was intricate, stylish - a far cry from the blotchy devil’s trap she’d scrawled across cemetery grass.

Sam led the way into a room similar to a dozen they’d already passed, stocked floor to ceiling with files and bundles. Charlie could hear Dean speaking from somewhere inside, alternating with a darker, richer voice that seemed to bypass Charlie’s ears and go straight to the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Sorry squirrel - that’s all you’re getting. Unless you want to send wonder boy in to play.”

“Kevin’s not coming anywhere near you, so you can quit asking.”

“Why? Scared he’ll finally realise he’s better off without you? Did he tell you how he figured out my little deception back when you were keeping him aboard that boat? He knew my demons weren’t you… because they bothered to buy him dinner. Tell me. How long before he’s just another red tally in the Winchester’s bloody ledger?”

“Shut up.”

“Ooh. Touched a nerve?”

Charlie rounded a set of shelves to see that two racks had been swung away from the wall, a pair of double doors standing open where they would have been. The room thus revealed was lined with weapons and scarier-looking implements, hung with chains and decorated with wardings. It was exactly what Charlie felt a dungeon in the secret base of occult operatives should be, but she didn’t have much attention to spare for admiring it.

Dean stood near the centre of the room, his back to them. In front of him, a dark figure was bound to a chair. His neck was collared, his wrists chained and his ankles shackled, and yet he sat in that prison as though upon a throne. Power emanated from him. It was in the languid movement of his head as he turned to look at the doorway, the deep music of his voice. He was resplendent in chains.

“Moose! How good of you to join us. And you’ve brought a friend. Care to make the introductions?”

Dean turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Charlie, then narrowing in a scowl. “Sam, what the hell is she doing here?”

Charlie’s smile of greeting died on her face, her hand frozen halfway towards waving. 

“She -”

“Man, what were you thinking?”

“He’s chained up, Dean, what’s he going -”

“Hello? I can speak for myself thank you!” Charlie folded her arms, the anger which had been bubbling beneath the surface ever since Crowley’s attack on Jody surging up. “I wanted to see this rotten king of yours, ok?”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you to shut it!”

“Dean -”

Charlie lost patience. Ducking around the boys, she reached Crowley’s chair in a few quick strides and backhanded him across the face. “You hurt my friend, bitch!”

Crowley let out a huff of amusement, running his tongue along the bloody line of his lip where his teeth had cut into it. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, darling.” He sat up slowly. His eyes as they met Charlie’s were hot and dark, full of a cunning centuries older than the middle-aged body which contained it. Only Charlie’s fury kept her from quailing.

“Blue dress, gorgeous eyes, you led her on and then tried to kill her?”

“Ah yes. The charming Jody Mills. Well, you have my apologies - means to an end, and all that.”

“Not to mention what you did to Cas -”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Dean caught Charlie’s arm as she went to hit Crowley again. “Enough, Charlie! If you’re gonna slap this bastard for every damn thing he’s done we’ll be here all night.”

Crowley’s eyes glittered. “Tad conservative in your estimations there squirrel.”

“Sam, get the duct tape.”

The demon held up his hands, miming locking his lips and throwing away the key. He settled himself back in his chair with a smirk, but Charlie thought she caught something else in his face - disappointment? Sorrow? Angrily, she dismissed the moment. Who cared what a creature like that felt.

“Fine. He’s not worth the attention anyway.”

Shrugging off Dean’s hand, Charlie nevertheless allowed herself to be guided back into the outer room. Sam locked the dungeon door behind them, pushing its concealing shelves back into place. Almost as soon as the door closed on Crowley’s grin, Charlie could feel her hands wanting to shake. The flash of rage left her as quickly as it came.

“Ok, what the hell was that?” Dean was staring at her as if she’d sprouted an extra head.

“Sorry, I just - I get - angry sometimes. More since… since I left Richard Roman Enterprises. And he hurt Jody and Cas.”

A shadow passed over Dean’s face. He cleared his throat, mustered a grin that clearly cost him something. “Well, remind me not to get on your bad side!” He clapped her on the shoulder. “I’ve seen you with a sword! Wouldn’t fancy my chances, Xena.”

Charlie managed a weak chuckle. “Did I… did I just hit the King of Hell?”

Sam laughed. “Yep. You sure did.”

“Huh… Life achievement unlocked?” A wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. The world seemed to zoom away, pixelating like a lagging livestream.

Dean patted her shoulder again, apparently oblivious. “C’mon. Let’s get a beer.”

Charlie watched herself follow the boys through underwater corridors to a brightly-lit kitchen. It always happened like this, the burst of temper, and then the dizzy greying of the world as the hot clarity left her. Anchoring her fingers in the cuffs of her shirt, she did her best to concentrate on her surroundings. It was difficult. The light was too flat. She couldn’t find purchase on it. 

Fighting the dissociation, Charlie forced herself to take systematic stock of the kitchen, the drip stain falling from a pipe in the upper right corner, the heap of dirty crockery by the stove and the signs of enthusiastic culinary activity. “Wait, you guys eat stuff that doesn’t come out of a McDonald’s wrapper?”

“Hah - yeah, Dean’s a regular Gordon Ramsay when he can be bothered.”

“Shut up.” Dean grabbed beers from the old-fashioned fridge, and Charlie sank into a chair next to Sam at the table. Soon they were all sitting companionably, Charlie gradually feeling more attached to reality, calmed by the simple domesticity of the scene. The harsh fluorescent lighting and casual detritus of everyday living made it hard to believe that there was an extremely powerful demon chained in a dungeon below them. But there was. She had to remember that there was. That was part of reality too now.

“So how’ve you been Charlie?” Dean took a swig of his beer, smiling in a way that made Charlie think she’d imagined his former brusqueness.

“Oh y’know, same old.” She managed a dazed yet sunny grin in return. “Monsters, mayhem - oh, I beat my highscore in Plants vs Zombies! What about you? Did you find Cas?”

The brothers exchanged glances. Charlie’s heart caught in her throat.

“Dean? What happened to Cas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally appears :D I love writing him so much... also fierce Charlie is fierce!
> 
> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think so far! :D stay awesome <3


	6. Knight in Shining Plaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's dam of outrage bursts again, and she sweeps off to rescue a fallen angel, like the valiant warrior queen she is.

“YOU DID WHAT!?” Charlie’s voice echoed around the bunker’s white-tiled kitchen, amplifying and re-amplifying her outrage. All her earlier fury came crashing back in.

“Woah!” Dean jerked back from her, looking stunned. “I di-”

“You let him go out there, alone, human - he’s never had to feed himself! He’s never needed to sleep! Did you at least give him the key to one of your safe houses? Some cash?”

“Er-”

“You didn’t did you? Dude! Have you never watched a fish out of water story? The alien always needs babysitting, they can never manage on their own!”

“Wait - Dean, you didn’t even give him a key to Rufus’ cabin or something?” Sam was watching his brother’s face, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Hey!” Dean’s look of guilt had rapidly transmuted into anger. “I told you - he took off! You know what Cas is like!”

“Yeah, but Dean - he’s human now. It’s not like he can just poof out - you really expect me to believe he just left without asking for help? Dude, when we found him he was half-starved and living on the streets. Not to mention literally getting captured by a reaper.”

“Yes I expect you to-”

“He was LIVING ON THE STREETS!?” Charlie exploded again. “And you didn’t think to look for him for how long!?

“Ok, ok, Cas is like 6 billion years old or something, trust me he can cope!”

“But he’s only been human for a few weeks! A few weeks Dean! He’s born again yesterday!”

“He’s - what?”

“He’s never been human before. Don’t you get what that means? He’s got the body of a middle-aged man, but in terms of experience - he’s a newborn.”

Sam was still watching the exchange with more intensity than Charlie would’ve expected, given he was presumably privy to most of this before. He spoke calmly though. “You said it yourself Dean. Without his powers he’s basically just a baby in a trenchcoat.”

“Ok! Ok, fine!” Dean held up his hands, staring at them both with an expression of angry betrayal. “I get it! I should’ve made him accept help. But I told you, he left of his own accord. Dude wanted this.”

Charlie sat back, shaking her head. Unease made her chest feel tight. _He knew my demons weren’t you… because they bothered to buy him dinner._ How would Dean react to an angel with no powers? An angel who was apparently being chased by the whole of Heaven, whose presence might hamper Sam and Dean’s ability to hunt without interference? The thing about people with a mission was that they tended to put their mission before people.

“Do you at least have a phone number for him?” she asked, still glaring.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, not meeting her eye. “I gave him one of our cells.”

“Good. Then I’m going to find him. Because someone should.” 

***

Charlie made it out to her car and a few miles away from the bunker before the emotional aftershocks hit. She rode out the panic attack on the verge of an empty highway, clinging to the ground as the world threatened to slip sideways and buck her off into nothingness. When the grass beneath her fingers once again felt real, and her body had stopped trying to shake itself to pieces, she returned to the car seat. She had a quest. She needed to rescue the damsel in distress - who, for bonus points, just so happened to be a fallen angel. There was no time for breaking down on the road to the prince’s tower.

Pulling out her phone, Charlie typed in the number Dean had given her.

“Hello?” The familiar monolith tones sounded strange through the tinny speaker, the unusual inflections highlighted and the depth lessened to a gravelly tenor.

“Hiya! It’s Charlie - Bradbury?”

“Charlie,” she thought she could hear the smile. “Yes, it is… good to hear from you.”

Charlie found herself grinning in response. “And you dude! I thought you’d like to know - Sam just came up with a load more lore on those cultists we were looking into. Don’t suppose you’d help me look through it, study-buddy?”

A pause. “I-” Cas sounded oddly choked. “Yes. That would be - that would be nice.”

“Great! Where are you? I can bring the stuff over?”

“Newton, near Wichita.”

“Awesome. I’ll text when I’m close. Meet outside City Hall?”

“Ok - I will see you there. Study-buddy.”

***

Day had turned to night by the time Charlie’s text came through. Newton City Hall was uplit with white spotlights, which might have made it look imposing, had the architect’s ambition extended beyond near-featureless brick. As it was, it resembled a kid holding a torch beneath their chin to look scary - only impressive until you saw the real deal. 

Castiel paced around in front of it, shivering in his thin red hoodie and trying to stabilise himself atop the endless surges of human emotion. It amazed him that humans could feel all of this, all the time, and not sink. It was terrifying, the way his body could impose feelings on him, before he himself was even aware of the cause. His angelic essence was not quite a soul, but stripped of grace and wings it was bound to his flesh just as surely, and just as subject to its whims. The experience was dizzying.

It took Cas a moment to notice the sweep of headlights as a green bug drew up alongside the low square sign that declared that this was, indeed, ‘Newton City Hall’. A familiar head poked out of the driver-side window, the vibrant colour of its hair deadened by the sodium streetlight, but still recognisable. A hand waved energetically.

“What’s up, bitch!”

Cas crossed the plaza towards her, unable to help the shy smile that crept across his face. “Hello - what’s… up? Charlie.”

Unfolding herself through the door, Charlie hurried around to give him a tight hug that he remembered to return after a second. “Brr!” She released him to stamp her feet, rubbing her arms through the checked cotton of her shirt. “Man, it’s freezing out here - come on, get in!”

Cas obediently clambered into the passenger seat as Charlie penguin-shuffled back to her side.

“I thought we could find a diner somewhere, combine study with food?”

Cas grinned lop-sidedly with relief. “That would be very good. The despair of hunger. I never understood - how a simple need for caloric intake can have such a profound effect on mental state.” He hesitated. “Though - I haven’t much money.”

“Dude, you’re helping me out with research, I’ll buy you whatever you want!” Charlie started the engine, turning the heaters up to full blast.

Cas stared at her as they pulled away. “I can’t take your money,” he told her, once again at a loss in the face of human generosity. It made no sense. He now knew first-hand how important earthly goods were to these fragile creatures, and yet they kept trying to give away the things that kept them from discomfort and death. 

Charlie took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at him in the strobing of streetlights. “Hey, I thought we were BFFs!”

That was so unexpected that Cas felt his face lift into a disbelieving smile. “Yes, I would like - we are... BFFs.”

“And what else are friends for if not pestering you to look after yourself? Speaking of - how are you man?”

“I’m… fine.” Cas bobbed his head with an almost-shrug. “It has been… difficult since the fall. There are so many angels out there, so confused, so lost. And I can’t help them.” He looked down, shame tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey!” Charlie punched him lightly on the arm, making Cas flinch and look up in surprise. “I didn’t ask about the other angels, I asked about you! How’re you finding the human experience? Give me the star rating, the Metacritic score - 10/10 would breathe again?”

“I… would not “breathe again”, as you put it. I am tired all the time, my left foot aches for no discernible reason, I have to willingly surrender to oblivion every night and the whole process of digestion seems unnecessarily complicated. But. I am fine.”

“Sounds like you’re getting all the highlights.”

“There are - benefits. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the way music is so much more than modulating wavelengths, sex.”

“Well a good PB&J can definitely rival sex. Angels can’t hear music? I mean properly?”

“We - they - perceive the vibrations in the air. There is no… feeling. No meaning. I never understood why humans enjoyed listening to it so much - until now. Taylor Swift.” Cas shook his head. “She knows my pain.”

“Wow...” Charlie laughed. “Hey, everyone loves Tay-Tay - but I think we might need to broaden your tastes dude.”

As she spoke, Charlie swung them off the road and into a parking space outside a diner. Artificial light streamed out through the glass front, casting the words ‘Freddie’s Fries’ in shadow on the tarmac. Cas took a moment to be thankful it wasn’t a Biggersons. Inside, red and yellow plastic was the prevalent theme, a bizarrely-proportioned cartoon chicken presiding from the huge menu above the counter. Charlie led the way through the door into a gust of scents - grease and meat and other things Cas’ human senses couldn’t identify, but which made his stomach cramp painfully with hunger.

Standing underneath the dizzying list of choices, Cas tried to sift through the overwhelm to pick out what was food and what some strange combination of pop culture and alchemy.

“What is a… Mr Whippy Caramel Double-Shot Macchiato with Extra-Whip Cream and Sprinkles?”

Charlie laughed again. “Excellent brain fuel, but I could use something a bit less diabetes-inducing. Know what you want?”

“I… like burgers?”

“Cool!” She set about placing the order with a confidence Cas could only marvel at.

Cas was happy to let her take over. His vess- body was doing that thing it did when hungry, where his muscles wouldn’t respond to command and his head felt heavy and weightless at once. Finding an empty table, he sank down into a chair.

“You look exhausted.”

Cas started, blinking back to alertness as Charlie put a tray of coffee and brightly-coloured soft drinks down in front of him.

“I’m - just tired.”

Charlie gave him a searching look, and Cas dropped his gaze. Charlie wanted him to help her with research, and here he was falling asleep at the table.

“Hey, if I’m honest, It’s been a long day for me too - why don’t we eat now and then pick up research tomorrow?”

Tentatively, Cas nodded. “That… might be wise. I’m sorry, I’m - not used to how often the human body requires sleep.”

“I feel ya dude! I once tried to marathon all 556hrs of Star Trek. Did not go well.” Charlie stared into the distance for a moment. “But anyway - do you have anywhere to stay?”

Cas lowered his eyes again. “No - I… I slept on a bench last night. I met a man who kindly gave me some cardboard, but its qualities as insulation were questionable.”

For a moment Charlie was silent, and when Cas glanced up her face was full of an emotion he couldn’t place. “Well, tonight you’re letting me pay for a motel room - ah,” she held up a finger. “No argument! BFFs remember?”

Cas closed his mouth and nodded, an odd constriction in his throat.

“Good. No point in surviving the fall from Heaven only to freeze to death, am I right?”

The rest of the meal passed with Charlie carrying most of the conversation. She seemed happy enough to chatter, for which Cas was grateful. He was too busy sinking his teeth into more food than he’d seen in days and drinking in the unfamiliar feeling of being looked after. Cared for. And if that thought made a guilty image of Dean Winchester arise in his mind - well. He pushed it down. For a while, he let himself believe that everything would be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! The team up of C3 - well, C2 at the moment, but I promise we'll get there :P Human!Cas is the most adorable thing to write, I can't wait to see how these two play off each other's neuroses in the chapters ahead :D
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! And please do leave a comment, I love chatting to you guys :D
> 
> Stay awesome <3


	7. Soul Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this a motel research scene I see before me!

The cheapest motel Charlie could find nearby was called ‘Sunset’s Traveller’ and was as sadly over-eager as its name. A flickering neon sign blazed feebly over a nearly empty car park, and the lobby clerk was unwilling to look up from his phone long enough to sign them in. This gave ample time to take in the gaudy wallpaper and ‘futuristic’ plastic chairs, which were presumably supposed to look stylish, but which mostly just looked uncomfortable. Charlie was too tired to care, worn out by the day’s rollercoaster twists and turns. Only that morning she’d been happily committing bank fraud without a worry in the world. Well, with fewer worries.

“Uh, you want a double?” The kid looked up with hooded eyes, one earphone still in, staticy bass beat just audible.

“Ah - no,” Charlie glanced quickly at Cas, who looked asleep on his feet, eyes rimmed with dark bags. “Two singles please.”

“Here you are.”

Charlie paid in cash and accepted their keys. She began to walk towards the door to the rooms, before realising Cas wasn’t following and returning to tug on his arm. He came to with a start, and let her lead him through the dry-aired corridors to rooms 24 and 25. Charlie handed him his key.

“See you in the morning then!”

“Yes.”

Charlie was halfway into her room, when Cas spoke up again.

“Charlie? Thank you. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

She gave him a smile. “Yep, I did.”

But as she dumped her bag and fell onto the cheap synthetic comforter, Charlie wondered. Did she have to - really? Since she was twelve years old, she’d survived by being independent. One person was easy to take care of. It was easier to run if there was no one to pull you back, easier to hide when you knew no one would be looking for you. She’d marched off to save Castiel in a moment of fury - and, yes, fear. Fear because she’d let herself consider Sam and Dean her friends, even family, and Dean had shown just how harshly he could treat his family. But she barely knew Cas, except from books.

Burrowing into the stale-smelling bed, Charlie pulled the pillow over her head. She was over-thinking things. Castiel wasn’t some helpless baby, whatever she’d told Dean. He was a Warrior of the Lord. One she’d swooped in to save like a knight of old. That mental image made her grin - and she amused herself for a few minutes, imagining herself clad in mail, with a swooning angel across her stallion’s neck, plucked from the bloody battlefield in the nick of time. She would tend his wounds of course, nursing her comrade back to strength as they hid from their enemies, lying low in wooded vales and moving at night through countryside that whispered of their passing. Castiel would recover, and they would take the fight to the enemy - returning in a blaze of glory to rescue the fair maiden, Charlie’s one true love… As she was trying to figure out how the myth of the valkyrie might fit in with angels and chivalric knights, Charlie drifted into sleep.

***

A knock on the door roused Charlie the next morning. Rolling over, she realised she’d fallen asleep fully-clothed, the duvet a knot around her and the open curtains spilling light into the musty room. Groggily, she got to her feet and shuffled over to the door, yawning. The peephole gave her an excellent view of the side of Cas’ head, all ruffled hair and stubble. Opening the door, she was met with the strong scent of instant coffee and hot chocolate. 

Cas was balancing a tray with two paper cups, clearly from the coffee service in his room, and a couple of muesli bars.

“Good morning,” he greeted her with a shy smile and a tilt of the head. “I brought breakfast. It’s not much, but I-”

Charlie cut him off with a grin. “Breakfast in bed? I’m not gonna complain!” Glancing around the room, she checked that she hadn’t left anything embarrassing in plain view, then stood aside to let Cas enter. He maneuvered the tray around the doorframe, crossing to place it carefully on the white plastic table under the window. In the light of day, the weirdly over-designed furniture was even more painful to the eye. 

Cas stood awkwardly in the midst of the decor, wine-coloured hoodie clashing with the hideous wallpaper. Now that Charlie was looking at him without the urgency of the previous night, she thought she could see his humanity. It was in the small, unconscious movements, little fidgets and shifts which had been entirely absent before. The angel had animated the vessel, but a human body was alive - it reacted to discomfort independent of the mind trying to control it. Charlie wondered how that felt, experienced for the first time.

“I am ready for research when you are.” Even his voice had more intonation.

“Hm? Oh - great! Just let me clean up - the files are in my bag if you wanna get going.” 

A few minutes later, Charlie emerged from a cloud of soap-scented steam to find Cas already seated at the table, papers spread before him and a frown of concentration on his face. He didn’t look up as she sat down and pulled mocha and muesli bar towards her.

“This is fascinating. I had no idea the Morningstar was being used by Lucifer’s loyalists on Earth. And certainly not for any practical purpose.” Cas sounded eager, and Charlie felt a sympathetic thrill of discovery.

“What’ve we got?” she asked, reaching across to flick through some of the pages Cas wasn’t currently poring over. _Demons Worshipping the Devil_ , read one title, in neat typewriter script. _Morningstar Found at Grisly Scene_ , read another, this time hand-written and faded in patches where the scanner hadn’t distinguished between ink and the texture of the paper it was written on.

“This file is about a ‘case’ the Men of Letters were ‘working’ back in the 18th Century.” He spoke with all the excitement Charlie felt at getting to play detective - she could hear the quotation marks slot into place. She grinned at him.

“An 18th-century mystery? Bring on the period drama! Did people really wear those massive pannier-things to make their hips look wider? And the wigs?”

“Yes - it was an odd time for human clothing. Not that I was on Earth much back then.” A flicker crossed his face, almost a wince. “That I remember.”

Charlie gave him a curious look, but didn’t press further. Instead, she grabbed a sheaf of papers entitled _The Soul and its Journey to Demonic Essence_ and pulled out her iPad for note-taking. “Ok then, let’s find out what scandal was haunting the gin-soaked streets!”

They settled in companionably, each quickly absorbed in their own reading material. Occasionally they would make observations, compare notes, but mostly they worked in comfortable silence. Charlie made a supply run around lunchtime, returning with enough fast food, coffee and sugar to fuel them through the rest of the day. She found herself enjoying the company, as well as access to such a knowledgeable source whenever she ran into contradictory pieces of lore.

“This says that demons have no souls, but I thought they _were_ human souls, corrupted in Hell?”

“Yes. Technically a demon’s essence is the remainder of their once-human soul, transmuted by centuries of torture.”

“So that’s the black smoke? The burnt out soul?”

“In simple terms, yes.”

“Yeesh.” Charlie shuddered at the memory of oily smoke pouring over and through her as the demon wailed. “And that’s the demon’s true form?”

“No. Only angels and demons can see each other’s true forms - in the case of demons… when a human dies their soul retains the shape they wore when alive, more or less. I believe it’s something to do with habit. But over the millennia, that memory gets warped. A demon’s appearance is their own distorted self-perception. They tend to be hideous.”

“Wow… that’s... Actually really sad.”

“Yes. It is.” Cas’s voice was heavy with a kind of resignation.

“So turning a human soul into a demon all in one go…?”

“It would be incredibly violent. I’m not surprised none withstood the process.”

“Wait - what?” Charlie looked up, blinking in the golden shafts of afternoon light.

Cas also raised his head, with a crunching of vertebrae that made alarm flash across his features. He raised a tentative hand to his neck. “This case the Men of Letters were pursuing - they were following a series of deaths, all groups of people who died explosively, in situations which suggested they were performing a ritual. They found the Morningstar symbol at all the sites, along with evidence that suggested these people had been trying to become demons. The incidents ceased after a few months, and they never found out what was behind them.”

“Ex-explosively?”

“The descriptions are quite detailed. Limbs spread across the room, guts-”

“O-kay! Do not need to hear about guts! Certainly not in combination with limbs!” Charlie thought for a few moments, then pulled her iPad towards her and began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing whether there’ve been any mysterious instances of exploding people recently - aha!” Numerous newspaper headlines spread out before her, tab after tab as she searched through online versions of everything from national to local news. “Looks like there’ve been four cases in the last two months - the timescale fits. It’s just a miracle there haven’t been more, given that the ritual’s all over the internet.”

“You said the cultists you found in Sioux Falls were supposed to meet a demon to conduct the ritual? Maybe without a demon’s power it’s ineffective?”

“I guess - I mean, it looks like it’s pretty counter-productive either way, unless these demons have a craving for chunky person-soup. Hold on - the latest incident was two days ago! Small town over in Illinois - we could make it in… seven hours, according to Google Maps.” Charlie’s eyes were alight with excitement. It felt so good to have an actual lead after weeks of nothing - even if it did involve exploded people.

For a moment, Cas’ face reflected her feelings - then he ducked his head. “Charlie, I… I don’t know whether I should accompany you.”

“What? But this is your case too!”

“I’m… I don’t have my powers. In this condition...” He gestured frustratedly with one hand, an aimless movement swiftly cut off. “I’m useless.”

“Hey!” Charlie reached across to punch Cas on the arm. “You think I’ve got powers? Beyond my exceptional good looks and outstanding genius?”

Cas looked stricken. “I…” He swallowed. “I’m sorry - of course, I -”

“Your powers aren’t what make you important, dude! Like, pretty much every superhero story has an arc about it -” she put on her best RDJ impression, “- ‘If you’re nothing without the suit you don’t deserve to wear it’ and all that.”

“I - don’t understand what that means.”

“Man, you need to read some comics. Basically - being a hero? It’s not about what you can do, it’s about who you are.”

Cas frowned. “Ok. I’ll - try my best.”

Charlie beamed. “You’re getting it!”

“But being able to smite demons and heal with a touch is still very useful for being a hero.”

Charlie hesitated, then stood, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s a lengthy philosophical discussion to be had here, but I’ve got a whole seven hours of new music to introduce you to. Ready to hit the road, study-buddy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody do the exposition dance! :D also the 'Charlie is definitely going to throw nerd culture at Cas the moment she gets a chance' dance :P
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me guys! :D y'all are the best.
> 
> <3


	8. Agent to Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Charlie investigate their first crime scene, and meet someone unexpected.

Castiel’s wings stretched across the dimensions, glittering with starfire. They were vast and insubstantial, each feather a fractal, whipping space-time into eddies. One beat, and he was flying through a kaleidoscope of colour and shattered light, too fast to perceive were it not for the inter-planal prism of his many eyes.

He landed in a flurry of fractured space, the air around him going crystalline as planes rearranged themselves to accept his presence. A small child ran past him, chasing a smaller dog. Traffic thrummed. Birds sang, people laughed. Worms burrowed through the earth. Standing in a small suburban park, Castiel fell in love.

His brethren were there, though he could not see them. Their wings enfolded him, warm and loving. But their eyes burned, and Castiel was afraid. A base, human terror he did not understand. A void opened up inside him, beneath him, and he was falling, falling, falling through feathers that crumbled to ash, wings blazing across galaxies, searing his essence and -

Steady hands on his shoulders. The scent of whiskey and hellfire. A rich voice in his ear, and a glimpse of deep red eyes in a face less human than animal, less animal than abstract. Hands on his shoulders -

“Hey!” 

Castiel woke with a start, bewildered in the sodium-lit darkness. Charlie was shaking him, and Crowley was gone - no, had never been there. Loneliness hit him like a punch to the gut as he felt afresh the absence of his kin. He made an involuntary sound, almost a mewl. 

“Sorry! Are you ok?” Charlie was looking at him, concern visible in the dim streetlight.

The world through his human senses was distorted and strange, less real than the celestial images his brain had conjured in sleep. Castiel stared at her.

“Cas?”

“Y-yes I’m fine. I am… not used to dreams.” He struggled to pull himself upright. “Is everything alright?”

“Yep, I just wondered if you’d mind driving for a bit? I’m pooped.”

“Of course.”

“Life-saver!”

The road rushed on through the night. In the darkness, Castiel could almost fool himself into thinking he was flying. But the world remained stubbornly three-dimensional, and Castiel remained firmly human. No matter how hard he tried.

***

The next morning found Charlie and Cas sipping takeaway coffee on the main street of Arenzville, Illinois - and plotting their way onto a crime scene. 

“It’s cool, I’ve done this before. Admittedly only once before. And I held my badge upside down - but I totally distracted a mortician! Who… turned out to be an evil djinni who captured me and tried to feed me to her son… but I distracted her!”

“I have accompanied Sam and Dean ‘undercover’ before.” Cas’ smile was proud, but slipped after a moment. “I… also got the badge the wrong way around.”

Charlie nodded a few times, then glanced around before pulling out the fake ID Dean had given her. “Ok, so it’s like this, right?”

Cas examined the badge, while Charlie grinned anxiously. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Great! Ok good. So. Um. We go up to the officer, we say we’re from the FBI - we show our IDs, they see through our paper-thin disguise, we get arrested and spend the rest of our lives inside _Orange is the New Black_ \- unless they do something worse to federal impersonators?” 

“Charlie.” Cas surprised her by placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. His lined eyes were kind. “Don’t worry. We had the best possible teachers.”

Charlie hesitated, but nodded. No matter her complicated feelings about the Winchesters right now, she couldn’t deny they were the best damn hunters on the planet. Downing the dregs of her coffee, she stood straighter and smoothed her long coat with tremulous hands. “Let’s do this!”

Cas tugged on the sleeves of his hastily-acquired suit as they set off towards the police barrier further down the street. “I miss my trench coat.”

“And I miss my hoodie! I’m no good at this power-suit stuff. Though aforesaid djinni did give some surprisingly good tips.”

The police line had been put up across the entrance to an unremarkable house just off the main street. Yellow and black tape fluttered between the flaking white posts of the veranda, a police woman standing guard on the lawn. Charlie’s eyes jumped to the gun in the woman’s holster before she remembered that an FBI agent shouldn’t appear worried around an armed police officer. Find the character, channel it.

Throwing her shoulders back, Charlie marched up to the officer, badge already out. “Agent Ford, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Adams.”

Cas came up beside her, standing ramrod straight with a deadpan expression Charlie envied at that moment. He held up his ID, correct way round.

The police officer raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “FBI huh? One of your agents is already in there - go on through. Interesting stuff is in the front room, first door on the right.”

Panic flooded Charlie’s insides with pins and needles. She glanced at Cas, trying desperately to control her expression. He returned her look quizzically, apparently unsure whether this was a problem. In any case, there seemed no other option but to keep going, so Charlie forced a tight smile and walked passed the police woman, pulse thrumming at the base of her throat.

Ducking under the cordon, Charlie entered into a stench of days-old blood. She resisted the urge to cover her mouth, wondering why the scene hadn’t been cleared by the forensics people. Wasn’t that procedure? She really should have researched more thoroughly before trying this. Passing from the prim hall into the front room, however, the source of the reek became obvious. 

Someone had indeed cleared the room of the bodies which must have strewn it, but traces of blood had clung stubbornly to the walls, the carpet, the furniture. It must have soaked into the cushions of the sagging couch opposite the shattered television, drenched the curtains where they hung askew from their rail. Suggestive shapes had been marked on the floor, the sideboard, beside the fragments of an antique vase, each neatly numbered. They overlaid the sigils scorched into the surface of a low coffee table, the obvious epicentre of the blast-zone.

Charlie was very glad of Cas’ presence at her back, quiet and apparently unmoved. The world was going grainy at the edges, dizziness crowding in, but she had to look after him right? Had to be the leader for him. She couldn’t afford to think about the human beings those anonymous outlines had once been parts of. After a few seconds she remembered to breathe.

There was a figure crouching on the other side of the room, putting something into an evidence bag. She straightened as Charlie and Cas entered, dark coat sweeping the floor. Charlie’s impression was of taught energy, a surprisingly young face, and eyes that put her in mind of a tiger, all controlled wariness. Faltering, Charlie forced herself to cling to her unflappable Federal Agent mask. Chin raised and hands pressed to her sides to prevent their fidgeting, she stepped forwards.

“I’m Agent Ford, this is Agent Adams.” In her peripheral vision, she caught Cas half-raising his badge again, before noticing that she’d left hers in her breast pocket and lowering his hand.

The woman’s gaze moved unhurriedly over them both, taking in Cas’ uncertain expression, their clothes, finishing with Charlie’s face. “No you’re not.”

Charlie stubbornly maintained her composure. “Oh? And who might you be?”

“Agent Smith.”

“Really? May we see some ID, ‘Agent’?”

A smirk. For a few heartbeats the woman merely stood there. Then the smirk broadened into a lop-sided grin. “No need. We’re all hunters here, aren’t we?”

Charlie felt herself sag as the tension went out of her. “Oh - really? Glory to Earendil! I really wasn’t sure where I was going with that bluff!”

“I could tell. Nice attempt at a flipping the script though - you new at this?”

“Hunter in training, that’s me!”

The woman nodded. “Name’s Tania. Unless you wanna keep calling each other ‘Agent’?”

“Hi! I’m Charlie, and this is-”

“- Steve.” Cas broke in. After too long a pause, he held out his hand. When Tania only stared at it, he shifted uncomfortably. “I - believe it is customary to clasp each other’s hands and move them up and down?”

Tania gave him a long look. “And where are you from, ET?”

“Ah - he’s joking!” Charlie gave the brightest grin she could. “Seriously, he’s got this whole deadpan thing, really hard to tell when he’s being sarcastic.”

Tania raised an eyebrow in a look of magnificent skepticism that Charlie swore to try to emulate next time she had access to a mirror. Tania didn’t shake Cas’ hand, but she did give him a nod. “So we’re working the same case, at a guess?”

“Yeah, we think some demons are recruiting people to make more demons… which sounds really gross when I put it like that…”

“Yeah I got that far. You been to the other sites?” Tania went back to making notes as she spoke, crouching as if to gauge the trajectory of what might have been a severed arm, judging by the shape marked on the floor.

“Ah - no, this is our first.” Charlie forced herself to look around, trying to view the scene as a three-dimensional puzzle, not as a room in which multiple people had died horrifically. “The newspapers said there were three victims?”

“Yep, three vics. Two black girls, one white, all under 21. Into ‘eclectic witchcraft and wicca’ by all accounts.” Tania shook her head. “Kids, wanting to believe they had power in their own lives. Gullible idiots, trusting a demon to give it to them.”

Charlie frowned, but Cas spoke before she could voice her objections.

“It’s not always easy to know what is right and wrong when dealing with a demon.”

Tania and Charlie both turned to look at him in surprise. Cas’ expression was haunted. When he noticed their stares, he made a small gesture with one hand, eyes going evasive. “I just meant - was it these people’s fault that they were manipulated and chose wrongly?”

Tania regarded Cas with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, well right and wrong aside, anyone who believes a greater power would just invite them into the club without a catch? Hasn’t been paying attention to history. But whatever. A demon’s definitely been here, there’s sulphur all over the place.”

“We think the ritual needs demonic intervention to give it power.” Charlie’s eyes were still on Castiel, concerned at the vacant look that had come into his face.

“That’d make sense. You seen anything like these sigils before? They’re not from the online ritual.”

Charlie crossed to examine the low table between the sofa and the television. Charred lines and swirls covered its surface, the cheaply-varnished wood actually cracked in a couple of places. At the centre was the familiar 9-pointed Morningstar. The surrounding shapes were intricate, indecipherable. “No… Ca- Steve?”

Cas blinked, looking dazed for a moment, before coming over. “This is one of the scripts of Hell. The language is…” he frowned. “Enochian…” 

“That’s the angelic language, isn’t it?” Tania was watching Cas closely. “Why would demons be using angel-speak?”

“I don’t know.” Cas ran his fingers over the burnt lines. “I am not well-versed in this script - I would need time to transliterate it.”

“But not for the actual translation?”

“Of course not, I’m -”

“Steve’s fluent in loads of obscure languages,” Charlie interrupted hurriedly. “Great to have around on cases like these.”

Cas gave her one of his wide-eyed, lips-parted looks, as if he’d never been complimented before.

Gaze sharpening yet further, Tania glanced from Cas to Charlie and back. “Who the hell are you guys? ‘In training’, my ass!”

“Just hunters!” Charlie grinned nervously, bouncing on her heels. “We had really knowledgeable mentors, that’s all!”

A flicker passed across Tania’s expression. “Well, likewise. Enough to know that this ritual was missing something. They had the words, a power source, symbols to direct the energy, but if the people bursting like raindrops across three states are anything to go by, nothing to contain it. Basic rules of spell-work.”

Cas nodded. “Of course. If the vessel isn’t strong enough, it must be reinforced.”

It was Charlie’s turn to look from one to the other. “So there’s a missing ingredient?”

“Seems like.” Tania sighed, tucking her notepad away. “Well, I need to hit the road.” For the first time, she looked awkward. It made her seem younger. “Look, sorry if I came on too strong just now. I didn’t mean - y’know. It’s just hard to see people taking stuff like magic lightly, and getting hurt for it.”

Charlie hesitated. “It’s cool! Just, it’s not their fault they didn’t know.”

There was a pause.

“Here,” Tania scribbled a number on her notepad and tore it off. “Call if you find anything?”

“Sure!” Charlie took the paper. “I’ll text my number - if you need any help... Hunters unite, right?”

Tania smiled, but there was something guarded behind the cocksure facade. “Sure. See you around.”

With a flick of braided hair, Tania strode out of the room. Charlie turned to Cas, but before she could speak, her phone rang. Frowning, she checked the caller ID.

“Sam?”

“Hiya Charlie. What would you say to helping us solve a 60-year-old computer problem?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload on this one guys! Had to make an unexpected trip over the weekend and didn't have time to finish the chapter first. Life's gonna be a bit busy for the next week or so, but I'll upload when I can and aim to get back to a regular schedule asap :)
> 
> In the meantime, have Cas and Charlie doing their best to be feds :D
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all are wonderful. Have an amazing day! <3


	9. Rainbows? Over Them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of 9x04 (Slumber Party), Charlie decides not to go with Dorothy to Oz after all. Instead, she and Cas have a heart-to-heart about a certain Winchester.

Voices rang through the bunker corridors, calm and echoey after the excitement of the last few hours.

“I couldn’t go with her Sam, I need to get back to Cas.”

“But I thought you wanted a magical adventure?”

“Yeah, well… maybe it’s better for some fantasy to stay fantasy, y’know? Like, before I met you guys, djinn were some of my favourite mythical creatures! And then it turns out they’re basically just tattooed people with blue eyes trying to kill me. I’d rather not cross over the rainbow only to find out that the Yellow Brick Road is suffering from maintenance cuts, the Emerald City has a littering issue, and the Munchkins have exactly the same problems as people here.”

Crowley’s ears pricked up as the voices neared his cell. Bound he might be, but his demonic senses were still sensitive enough to hear clearly through the reinforced doors and the cluttered room beyond. He’d picked up quite a few interesting tidbits to hoard in the darkness. Now, it sounded like the lumberjacks’ unwanted house-guest had been dealt with, and another visitor had been there all along. Well, well, well.

“How’s Cas doing anyway?” The Moose, sounding hesitant.

“He’s coping, I think. I left him in Illinois, trying to transliterate some sigils.” 

Charlie, the boys had called her. Crowley mistrusted redheads on principle, but this one could be a distraction. And Crowley _needed_ distraction. Frustration clawed at his insides, the bound demon tearing blindly at his vessel, seeking a way out for the thousandth time, and finding none. His fingers twitched with want.

“Charlie…” Crowley’s voice was sing-song, pitched as loudly as he could without sounding strained. “Oh, Charlie…”

The footsteps in the corridor halted.

“Hanging around with my old business partner, Charlie? Sweetie, isn’t he? But between you and me, he’s a tad unstable. Never know when he might go all megalomaniac and stick an angel blade in your back.”

Crowley paused, eyes narrowed, listening for the effect of his words. Sam muttered something, and Charlie replied, “I know.” 

“Charlie?” Crowley fell into a croon, soft and taunting. “Is he giving you the innocent angel act? Those big blue puppy eyes. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. But I’ve seen his true form, Charlie - and oh, the things I could tell you.” That incandescent, celestial expanse, every inch of it riddled with stains. Sooty wing-marks scorched into glowing essence, a pair for each angel Castiel had slain. Sinful red blooming at Crowley’s touch, like ink dropped into water. Corruption so beautiful it had hurt to look at, and he had looked until his eyes burned. 

“I don’t care what a thing like you has to say.” Charlie’s voice was sharp with the same anger Crowley had tasted before. He ran a tongue along his lower lip, remembering blood, the singing swell of pain.

“Don’t you indeed?” His voice dropped further to a low purr. “Then why not come in here and shut me up?” It was a blunt play, revealing his hand. Desperation was making him clumsy, but Crowley didn’t care. He wanted too much: the sickly wrongness of human blood in his veins; the sweet agony of punishment; the delirious victory of being hurt and hurt until no thought remained. His fists clenched.

But Moose was murmuring something again, and the footsteps in the corridor resumed, walking away. Crowley called after them, “Give Cas a kiss from me! For old times’ sake.”

There was no reply. Crowley was left with a swiftly-souring sense of satisfaction, and yet more memories to throng the darkness around him.

***

Cas was still at the Arenzville Motel when Charlie returned. He sat almost exactly where she’d left him, in the blue-walled room by the fire escape, frowning over the photos they’d taken at the crime scene.

Entering, Charlie switched on the main light, and Cas looked up, blinking and squinting against the glare.

“You’ll go blind, trying to do that in the dark.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Cas blinked again, head tilting as he took in Charlie’s slumped shoulders and rumpled clothing. “Are you alright?”

Charlie forced a brittle smile. “Sure! Yeah, I’m fine - just tired.” She crossed to dump her stuff on the unslept-in bed. She’d decided a twin room would make more financial sense, but was now regretting that decision. Yet again she found herself reeling from the events of the last 24 hours, desperately trying to catch up with herself. She wanted to be alone.

“How are Sam and Dean?” Cas was still watching her with that concerned little frown.

“They’re fine.” That was too curt, and Charlie knew it. Cursing herself, she tried again for lightness. “The Wild Witch of the West showed up, tried to mount an invasion of Earth, we defeated her, and Dorothy went back to Oz. Y’know. Same old.”

Cas looked even more confused. “You fought a witch? Were you hurt?”

Charlie opened her mouth to deny it, but her throat caught. “Yeah - well, just a little - I mean…” She hunched her shoulders, hands pressing themselves together, twisting the strap of her bag until the weave began to fray. “I… kinda died. A little.” 

“You died?”

“Yeah.” Charlie’s lips trembled, and she pressed them together, eyes stinging. No crying. She was supposed to be the one looking after Cas, not falling apart on him.

There were a few seconds of silence. Charlie glared at her hands, trying to keep it together. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Cas take a hesitant step forwards. With a rustle of fabric, he sat beside her on the bed, not close enough to be touching.

“I don’t understand.” His voice was soft.

Charlie squeezed her eyes closed. Cas’ gentleness seemed to tug on her, pulling at her shaky defences. “I… the Witch killed me, and Dean resurrected me, somehow. And… Dean lied to me.” The words came loose on a surge of emotion, as though they had been the knot tying everything else up inside her. Fat tears chased each other down her cheeks. “He - I don’t know, there’s something going on - and - I don’t - know whether - I can trust him anymore - I mean, the way he treated you? And - Sam doesn’t even - seem to know - and now this, and I just - I-”

Cas’ arm around her was a shock. Charlie looked up at him through tear-blurred vision, to see his face full of uncertain sympathy. The last of her grip broke. Sobbing, she buried her face in his chest, clinging to him, helpless to do anything but let the overwhelm flow through her. Cas was stiff, his arms uncomfortable around her, but she didn’t care. It was enough that he was there.

Cas shifted slightly, and Charlie pulled away, sniffing and wiping ineffectually at her face. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Getting your hoodie wet?” Charlie gestured distractedly. 

Cas tilted his head. “It will dry.”

“No I mean - I’m being stupid and - you’ve got enough to deal with.”

There was a pause. When Cas spoke, it was with the same mixture of wonder and frustration Charlie had noticed before. “You have just died and been brought back from the dead, and you’re concerned about my feelings?”

Charlie blinked. “Yeah, well - you’re having to cope with more than I am.”

Cas shook his head. “How do you do that? Push all that emotion aside?”

Laughing shakily, Charlie gestured to her still-sodden face. “Not very well apparently. But - letting it out can help. Sort of a release, y’know?”

“And that makes it go away?”

“No. Sorry. It just makes it less overwhelming.”

For a moment, Cas was silent. “How do you ‘let it out’?”

“Talking about it can help?” Tentatively, Charlie reached for his shoulder. “If - you want to talk?” She gave him a watery smile. “I’m here!”

“Thank you,” Cas looked at her earnestly, then dropped his gaze. “Then I suppose I am... also worried about Dean. After he told me I had to leave the bunker-”

“Wait - what?” 

“What?”

Charlie stared at him. “Dean told you to leave?”

Cas frowned. “Yes?”

“But he told me you wanted to go it alone!”

Cas was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “No. I wanted to stay.” He lowered his head, as though bowed by a huge weight, and Charlie felt her heart squeeze for him. How much must it have hurt to be turned away from that promise of safety?

“Cas…”

“Dean must have had his reasons.” His voice was even rougher than usual, with anger or sadness Charlie couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

“Cas…”

“He’s my friend!” Cas’ fist clenched on his leg, his face full of a wild, desperate pride. “Dean Winchester is my friend - and I have given him more than enough cause to want me gone.”

Charlie shook her head vehemently. “I don’t care what you’ve done - he was wrong to let you down when you needed him.”

Cas’ shoulders slumped. “Perhaps. But the fact remains that I have let him down many more times. I tried to do penance before. Maybe I had to lose him before I could be truly punished.”

Frowning, Charlie’s retort died on her tongue. There was something about the distant look in Cas’ eyes... “Wait, do you… do you love him?”

Cas made a frustrated movement with one hand. “Yes. Of course. Don’t you?”

Charlie could only shake her head. Cas sat there, adamantly defending the man who’d yelled at him, thrown him out into the cold, lied to him and about him, and gods knew what else. And in all she’d read and seen, Charlie couldn’t believe that Dean would do the same for him.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, in answer to his question. “I relied on him, I guess. And Sam. They’re my fantasy mentor figures, y’know? Like, if Gandalf and Yoda were a few centuries younger... and... way less wise and sage. And I kinda owe them my life. I thought I trusted Dean, but now? I’m not sure.”

Cas nodded. “It is all too easy to lose someone’s trust.” He sighed. “And so, so hard to win it back.”

A melancholy silence fell. After a while, Charlie decided to break the atmosphere. She stood, stretching and managing a proper smile.

“Well, incredible though it may seem, I do actually need my beauty sleep.”

Startled, Cas looked up at her. “Alright.”

“... So I’m going to want my bed back.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry.” He also rose, shoulders hunched.

Charlie wished he wouldn’t look so damn vulnerable. It made her feel bad, even when she wasn’t the one who’d caused him to stand that way. “Hey, Cas? Thank you.”

A confused head-tilt.

“For letting me fall apart on you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cas dipped his head in a half-shrug, smiling shyly. “If you need to ‘let it out’ again, I’ll make sure to wear an absorbent hoodie.”

Charlie blinked. Then laughed in surprise. “Perfect! Go team!” She gave him a light shove on the shoulder. “Right, bedtime. You’d better not snore!”

“I’ll - do my best.”

“Night, study-buddy!”

“Goodnight, Charlie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys don't mind me skipping over events that happened in actual episodes - in this case it would pretty much just have been a re-telling of canon, aside from Charlie's change of heart at the end.
> 
> In other news, Cas and Charlie are still adorable. I'm so enjoying exploring their friendship :D hope you guys are too!
> 
> Thanks for reading - as ever, comments fuel my soul :) stay awesome <3
> 
> ((scheduling note: I'm going to reduce the number of chapters to 1 per week for a while - I'll do my best to get them up every Sunday :) ))


	10. War of Wizardry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Charlie indulge in some much-needed downtime :)

The next morning dawned cold and crisp. Cas woke to bright autumn sunlight playing on his face through a gap in the cheap blinds, the room cool despite the heater ticking up to temperature beneath one window. For a few minutes he lay still, trying to get accustomed to the way his consciousness dragged, as though reluctant to leave the tug of oblivion. Gradually he became properly aware of the room, his senses still curtailed by the confines of his skull. He resisted the nagging impulse to clear an obstruction that didn’t exist, to look round some metaphysical corner and see what lay just outside his peripheral vision. 

Listening, Cas could pick up Charlie’s steady breathing, the muted echo of calls from outside, clattering from the next room. If he tried, he could visualise the lives all around him, that strange human gift of imagination. He pictured people conversing, making coffee, opening shops. His understanding of these things was limited, but a smile spread across his face at the thought of them. Angels had fallen, Heaven had locked its doors and Castiel was lost. But humanity went on, complaining about their neighbours, going to work, kissing their children and making it through another day with more grace than most angels could pray for.

With a rustle of synthetic sheets, Cas sat up and slid his bare feet to the floor. He had slept in his t-shirt and jeans, lacking any other clothes to change into. Small bumps rose on his arms as he hastily pulled on shirt and hoodie against the chill. More odd sensations to get used to. Still, he was getting used to them, more every day. And, he realised with a shock, the tumultuous emotions he’d been battling since the fall felt more subdued this morning. Maybe Charlie was right about talking, even if he hadn’t managed to say anything of real consequence to her. When he thought back to the previous evening, just the sense of connection was soothing.

Settling himself at the rickety table beneath the two main windows, Cas pulled his transliteration towards him. He knew most of Hell’s scripts, but not well enough to consider himself fluent in all. This one struck him as particularly archaic, which was worrying. The older it was, the closer it might be to Lucifer’s earliest and strongest creations. Cas wished he had access to lore books to help with the decoding process, though it was unlikely any would be able to give him this alphabet directly. As it was, he was trying to use the parts he recognised to guess the rest.

“Morning.”

Cas turned to see Charlie pushing herself upright, her hair a tangled mass of red and her eyes puffy. 

“Good morning,” he remembered to smile.

Yawning, Charlie gave him a sleepy grin in return. “You sleep well?”

“I…” Cas hesitated, unsure whether this was another of those questions people asked each other without actually wanting a true answer. “I was unconscious for approximately 6 hours, which I believe is adequate rest.”

Charlie looked amused. “Good for you, Spock!” Pushing back the bedclothes, she clambered out with surprising energy and made a beeline for the ensuite.

Cas realised he’d forgotten about morning ablutions. At once, his bladder stabbed him, and his teeth glued themselves to his lips. Why his body hadn’t bothered to notify him of this situation earlier he couldn’t guess, but apparently the sight of the bathroom door closing was all it needed to immediately start making demands. And now that it had his attention, it was also loudly informing him of hunger and thirst. How was it possible to maintain a need to urinate and consume liquids simultaneously?

The sound of Charlie emerging from the bathroom came as an unbearable relief. She chuckled as he hurried past her, not unkindly.

A quarter of an hour later, Cas re-entered the main room to find Charlie spreading a selection of food across the table, his notes neatly stacked to one side. She greeted him with a grand sweep of her arm, inviting him to the feast.

“We’ve got raw pop tarts, OJ, AJ, ready-to-eat chocolate croissants, protein bars, bananas and tinned prunes - oh, and caffeine, of course. Take what you want!”

Cas frowned. “I can’t keep taking your food.”

Huffing, Charlie gave him one of her looks - the ones she seemed to reserve for whenever he tried to refuse her help. “For the last time, I’m not letting you starve to death on the streets! If you want to get Capitalist about it, consider this wages for your work on the case.”

“I should at least be contributing something.” 

Charlie paused, considering. “Well, if you want I can show you how to make money?”

Cas hesitated. “By stealing?”

“Hey, I do upstanding freelance work too! But it’s tough, keeping a day job going while hunting. If it helps, I only take money from bigoted arseholes with more cash than conscience. Call it vigilante-ism, but if a hunter’s job is to take down monsters the law won’t touch then these guys are up there.”

 _It is easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle…_ Cas sighed. “I would prefer an existence where I did not have to hurt anyone. I am tired of having to choose between hurting many or saving none.”

For a moment Charlie’s expression was too complicated for Cas to decipher. But she apparently shrugged off whatever emotion had been behind it. “I was actually thinking that today should be a rest day. I mean, from hunting stuff.” She reached beneath the table, pulling out a duffle bag and rummaging inside. She came up with a cardboard box, decorated with pictures of bizarrely-proportioned people and creatures, most wielding some form of weapon. “Do you like board games?”

Cas smiled in surprise. Giving in for now, he joined her at the table. “Yes, I have enjoyed playing them before.” Cas’ memories of the time after he took on Sam’s Hell were blurry, but he remembered hours spent in the break room, fascinated by simple rules and colourful game pieces. When nothing else had made sense, those constructs had.

“Great! Then I vote for a day of slobbing about playing War of Wizardry and watching Netflix.”

“What is Netflix?”

“Dude! You _need_ an injection of culture!”

And so the day passed. Cas found it surprisingly soothing to immerse himself in the vibrant world of wizards and warlocks, battling for dominance across an unlikely landscape of lava, tundra and jungle. His human brain easily provided images to go with the simple dice rolls and movements of his tokens around the board. Charlie helped, crowing with delight whenever her “army” won a small victory, groaning and embarking on lengthy elegies over the loss of any of her pieces. It felt a world away from the troubles of Heaven and Hell.

They were halfway through their third game - Cas’ warlocks hemmed into an icy pass and unlikely to succeed against the fire-wielding wizards arrayed around them - when Charlie spoke up.

“Cas…” She bit her lip. “I know it’s… I know I shouldn’t listen, but Crowley said some things. About you. Would you mind… Could I ask you about it?”

“Of course.” Cas did his best to ignore the trepidation settling in his stomach.

“He…” Charlie seemed to think for a moment, shoulders hunching in that way which meant she was uncertain. “He implied you worked together.”

Cas bowed his head. “Yes, Crowley and I made a deal to find Purgatory together. It is one of my… many regrets.” And yet he could not bring himself to regret it fully. Not when he remembered that dark voice caressing his name. Though he tried to deny it to himself, he could not help but remember feeling… wanted with Crowley. Appreciated in a way he’d never felt with the Winchesters. With Dean it was always confusing - demands for emotions he didn’t know how to give, rejection of those he gave without a thought. Crowley’s company had felt simple in comparison. Purposeful.

“But you double-crossed him?”

“Yes. I grew prideful. I…” Cas found he couldn’t finish. Emotion clogged his throat, choking him. Wing marks scorched into grass. A simple man’s heaven, despoiled forever. Sam Winchester lying in a hospital bed, his eyes haunted and blank. Crowley’s look of shocked betrayal, a guilty inclusion in his list of sins.

“It’s ok.” Charlie’s hand on his arm brought him back to the present. Cas looked up into her smile. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” Cas gestured helplessly. “But it’s -”

“Difficult. I know.” Charlie grimaced sympathetically. “Give yourself time.”

They returned to play. Cas’ warlocks were smashed by Charlie’s fire mages, and she celebrated by singing the chorus of ‘Walking on Sunshine’ while dancing energetically in her seat. After that, they settled on Cas’ bed to watch _Iron Man_. Castiel was surprised to find tears rolling down his cheeks as Tony Stark was forced to watch his friend’s betrayal. He was even more surprised when he glanced sideways to see Charlie in a similar state.

“How does a moving image evoke such emotion?” he asked in wonder.

Charlie laughed. “The magic of storytelling!”

Magic. Not the kind Cas was familiar with, full of blood and pain, but the one humans had invented. The kind which meant… brightness, kindness and joy. 

Cas smiled. Yes. Taking that definition, the day had been full of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading :D and sorry for the late upload, life did that thing it does.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Cas and Charlie getting some proper peace - I certainly enjoyed writing it :D As always, let me know what you think, if you have a moment!
> 
> Love you all <3


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